Mad
by HikaKiti
Summary: "Don't be mad, John..." A prompt from a 30 Day Challenge I'm doing on tumblr. SPOILERS.


_**A/N: **__Another prompt from tumblr. Another angsty drabble. Enjoy._

_SPOILERS._

* * *

**Mad - **

John is sitting in that chair, his favorite armchair. He sits, and reads, and listens to the hum of a violin. It's his imagination, of course, because it's impossible that anyone in the flat would be playing violin, and certainly not _that person. _He's been driven mad by this suddenly death, this sudden disappearance. He's insane – he must be to be hearing such angry, striking music. To have seen that ghostly pale figure draped in black walk through the house. He doesn't look up anymore, doesn't reach for the thing he knows he won't be able to touch, because _that person _is DEAD. He's absolutely positive. He knows...

John shakes his head as the words in front of him blur. The music speeds up, sounding anxious even.

That music's been playing in his head since he walked in the door this afternoon, and he wonders if it's something he ought to have memorized subconsciously, because it sounds so painfully hopeful and fast.

Mrs. Hudson walks in, and as ever there's sympathy in her eyes as soon as she steps in the doorway.

"John? Have you finally learned to... John?" she sounds gentle at first, but then she's startled, shocked even. John glances up to see her looking at him, and he wonders why.

"Mrs. Hudson?" he checks, as she stares at him in silence, eyes the size of the saucers she's carrying on the tray. Her pink lips are popped open in a little ''o''. She drops the tea tray. "Mrs. Hudson?" he stands, fearing for a moment that she's gone into some sort of seizure.

"John... who's playing that music if it isn't you?" she breathes, and he freezes in his reaching for her.

"W...What?" he chokes, chest tightening. "You... you can hear it?"

Mrs. Hudson's eyes fill with tears. "I can!"

"But... but..." John feels as though he can't breath and he spins around, feet carrying him towards the room. "No..."

Mrs. Hudson stays in her frozen state, the only movement is her eyes closing and a hand coming to her chest.

John throws open the door, and he's standing there._ That Person _is standing there, his back to the entrance of the room and the violin situated nicely on the crook of his body where shoulder meets neck, his fingers curled tensely around the bow and his eyes shadowed by the curls that have gotten longer. He's wearing on of John's jumpers, and John isn't sure where he got it. He doesn't move as John watches, catching the door frame to keep from falling to his knees and sobbing. _If this is an illusion or dream, kill me now. _He thinks, already feeling the sting behind his eyes.

"Sh...Sher...Sherlock?" John breathes, doubting the tall man can even hear him over the racing music.

The hand holding the bow freezes, and the music strikes silent instantly. He turns, and then John's heart lurches as his stomach does because _That Person's _eyes are looking back at him, sparked with worry and yet so, _sodamn _happy. "John..."

John takes a step forward, legs shaking. "Mrs. Hudson could hear you. Are you... are you..."

Sherlock's lips quirk in a smile that makes John's eyes sting even more. "I'm real, I promise. John... it's me."

John shakes his head. "This is a dream."

Sherlock takes a step forward, eyes flashing as John nearly steps back. "It's not a dream, I swear it's not... John, look at me. Come here."

"You... Nope. No. It's not you."

"John it – "

"You are dead. You were dead."

"Um, not quite."

John's temper flares up, because he's in one of those fight-or-flight situations or something. "YOU WERE DEAD! DEAD PEOPLE DON'T COME BACK, SHERLOCK!" he shouts, storming forward and jabbing a finger into Sherlock's chest and choking as it doesn't pass through. "HOW THE HELL ARE YOU HERE?"

"John... John don't be mad, please."

"MAD?" John yelled, glaring up at him. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT FELT LIKE? TO LOSE YOU?"

"John... I'm sorry." Sherlock murmured, holding up his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry."

"Sherlock... Sherlock sometimes a 'sorry' isn't enough. And this is one of those times." John steps to the side, straightening his shoulders and pointing. "Get out."

Sherlock's eyes went huge. "What?"

"Get out."

"John – "

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock lowered his gaze, the closest to humble John had ever seen him. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry! Please John..."

John swallowed, and suddenly he was throwing himself forward and crushing Sherlock. His arms flew around him. _No! You're still mad! You are furious! _He told himself, but Sherlock – after a moment of shock – was returning the hug. John pressed his face into the fabric of the jumper that really was one of his. "Why do you have my sweater?" he mumbled into Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock chuckles – John can feel it. "I came home in rags. Nice to see that you've cleaned out my room."

"Mrs. Hudson did that." John muttered, pulling away and glaring at him. "I'm still mad."

Sherlock tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowing in that characteristic way he had while he thought. "I love you." he says suddenly.

John chokes on air for what feels like the umpteenth time and backs up, hands flying up and then down as if he has no idea what he wants to do with them. "Wha- gah – wha?!"

"I love you, John."

"St-stop that!" John sputters, flushing against his will and shaking his head. "Y-you do not."

Sherlock smiles slightly, eyes trailing over John's face. "What's love, John?"

"It's... you know... that!" John shakes a hand. "It doesn't matter what it is! Sh-Sherlock, I'm still m-mad at you!"

"Don't try to lie John, you know you're terrible at it. Caught off guard with such a short statement, it's unlike you." Sherlock looked forward. "Is it because _I_ said it?"

"Sherlock..." John warned. "It most certainly ISN'T. It's because you show up after three years like its _nothing _and the first _intelligent _thing you say – besides 'I'm sorry' is _I love you_?" His anger is heating up again. "You can't _do _that."

"But I do."

"Damnyou!" John shouts. "No you don't!"

Sherlock shakes his head, and his overlong black curls fall in his face. "I read an article about _love. _Apparently, there is a fair amount of evidence that indicates _love _causes all sorts of beneficial neurochemical and biological things to happen."

"That's great, Sherlock but – "

"And you recall the Baskerville case?"

"Yes Sherlock, but – "

"I said to you, in these exact words: 'You've never been the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light you are unbeatable.'"

"Yes. And I replied with 'cheers' because I was mad at you. Kind of like how I am now, only less. Listen, please – "

"John~ I love you."

John darkened. "I – you – would you please stop saying that?!"

"Admit it, John. You can't stay mad at me. Isn't that one of those sappy things people say in those god-awful Rom-Coms?"

"Sherlock..."

"Are you mad, John?"

John sighed and reached up, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yes, Sherlock. Yes. You can't just leave and expect me to welcome you back. And expect me to... _love you._"

"Mmm, but you will. Shall I list the reasons why?"

"_No, Sherlock_. Just go downstairs and say hello to Mrs. Hudson, before she has a heart attack."

"Alright." Sherlock flashed another smirk, and with a click of his tongue exited the room.

John watched him go. "Dear God. I went to therapy and nearly killed myself in mourning over _him._" he thought out loud, shaking his head.


End file.
